The Camper
by StarryDreamer01
Summary: Clark invites Lois out for a weekend of camping. Can they both leave their jobs at home? DI Summer 2010 Ficstravaganza prompt


A/N: **This story is a part of a fanfic challenge over at DI. The assignment I was given was for Redpenny and was a photo of a camper with an orange awning, a post Season 9 time frame and a PG rating. ****When I wrote this I had been reading "The Time Traveler's Wife" and really loved the style of writing that was used throughout that novel. I decided to emulate that style by shifting the perspective between Lois and Clark and by using first person and present tense. I think it worked nicely and I really hope you all (and most especially, Redpenny) enjoy it. Please leave reviews, it really does push me to continue writing.**

**Special thanks to daydreamer10101 for beta'ing. It was much appreciated! **

**...::...**

**LOIS:**

"Camping?" My eyes wide, I shake my head. "Smallville you know very well that I don't camp."

Clark raises his eyebrows, challenging my declaration. "How is it possible that someone raised on an army base doesn't camp?"

"I didn't say that I've never camped before. I just don't enjoy it." I toss a stack of papers on to his desk for editing and pat his chest with my free hand. "I'm a city girl now. I appreciate the finer things in life… like clean clothes, showers, Egyptian cotton sheets. Oh! And pillows. I like pillows a lot."

He laughs and shakes his head, certainly used to my outlandish reasoning by now. "Stern finally gave us the weekend off. Are you going to look the gift horse in the mouth and refuse it?"

Incredulous, I reply, "Do you forget what happened to the Trojans?"

"What are you suggesting? That Stern has an ulterior motive for giving us the weekend off?"

I shrug. Weeks have passed since the invasion by Zod and his army of Kryptonians and life at the Daily Planet has been hectic. I've barely been able to leave my computer to use the restroom, much less leave the building to do any actual reporting. Stern continues to order the lower ranking journalists, like myself, to remain at our desks. I've been practically unable to see the light of day, forced instead to type out nonsense filler stories about grandmas who knit for charity.

Clark's lucky, he can zip in and out doing his Blur duties and no one ever notices he's been gone. The second I step out of the bullpen—even to attempt to get a cup of coffee that doesn't taste stale—I hear Stern or Brady calling out for me.

What both men don't know is that I've got a lead on a series of murders at local convenience stores. Writing a story about knitting grandmas is light weight work; seeking out sewer rats willing to snitch out their boss for a fifty is a little more challenging, especially when it has to be done from the comfort of my desk chair.

"I swear he doesn't like me Clark. Or us for that matter." I return to my chair and begin to search through the stacks of paper which litter my desk.

Clark cocks his eyebrow, the corners of his mouth inching upward. "That's not true Lois. He's just trying to help."

"Help?" I cry out, my voice carrying across the room. A few heads look up from their desks. Lowering my voice, I continue. "He's already fired us once Clark. I wouldn't put it past him to do it again. He keeps giving me these ridiculous granny stories." I toss my hands up in frustration, a few papers scatter across my desk.

"Lois," Clark warns. "Someone has got to write the granny stories. Besides I kind of think you put an interesting spin on their motivation to knit." He holds up a page of the unedited copy I left for him to review. "_Mrs. Klein believes that every stitch is a stitch that is woven with love, the love for her husband who died tragically in Vietnam over 40 years ago._ It's quite beautiful."

I shrug my shoulders sheepishly; my cheeks flush from the compliment. For some reason compliments from Clark are the most rewarding; his voice always woven with sincerity.

He leans forward. "You've been working hard lately Lois." Clark's voice lowers. "We've _both_ been working hard." He's right. I've barely seen Clark these past few weeks. The criminal element in Metropolis has grown exponentially lately and Clark has been pulling double duty both day and night.

"Steve in Sports is willing to let us borrow his camper. He keeps it out at Siegel's campground, east of Wichita." His face implores me to agree with him. "Say yes and come with me this weekend."

I look down at the stacks of papers that lay before me. I'd just gotten a lead on my convenience store murders minutes earlier. "I'm in the middle of researching this story…" As always, I'm unwilling to clarify for Clark what _kind_ of story I'm researching.

"I'm sure it can wait." He narrows his eyes. "Wait. What story?"

"And what about… you know," I ask, ignoring his question, motioning suggestively toward him.

"Oliver says he's got it covered." Of course he's thought of everything. I silently curse his forethought. "To do this right, we've both got to leave our work behind."

I sigh and Clark notices. He can tell that I'm about to relent to his suggestion, despite my reticence. He's right. We do need the break from all the craziness; but the stack of work in front of me and lure of the murder investigation holds me back.

I have a plan.

"Fine. I'll go camping with you. But I'm bringing my pillow."

**...::...**

**CLARK: **

Oliver stares at me in disbelief. "She actually agreed to go with you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he says innocently. Immediately I'm suspicious.

Chloe jumps to his defense. "It's just that Lois isn't exactly the camping type."

Oliver nods. "She likes her pillow. And 700 thread count sheets." I narrow my eyes at him and internally debate over which body part to aim my heat vision at. My eyes dart toward the large circular stained glass window and I consider throwing him through it instead.

Before I can take further action Chloe punches her fist into Oliver's arm. "What he means is that Lois enjoys the comfort and luxuries of home."

"I know that."

Chloe shakes her head. "Then why…"

"Stern's got us working overtime. With all that's going on in the city… we've barely seen each other."

"And…" Oliver knows. I can see it on his face as he pushes me to continue.

"And nothing." Chloe eyes us both, confused.

"Spill it Boy Scout."

I sigh and shake my head. Theoretically I could just speed out of here and avoid this conversation altogether. But Oliver might rescind his offer to watch the streets this weekend just to call my bluff. "I'm going to ask Lois to marry me," I blurt.

"What?" Chloe chokes out, stunned.

Oliver chuckles. "I knew you were up to something." I reconsider tossing him out the window.

"I asked Stern to give us the weekend off," I explain. "He shockingly agreed."

"But… but you guys just started dating." Chloe is sputtering her words. I probably should laugh at her doubt but instead I reply, "So?"

"So… isn't it a little soon?" She moves toward a computer and starts to type, attempting to appear casual.

Oliver moves to shake my hand. "Congratulations, buddy. And good luck. Are you sure that going camping with her is the right move?"

"After everything… we've been so busy. It'll give us a chance to unwind." I try to explain, "The camper isn't the best choice, but it'll get her away from work."

Oliver nods and smiles encouragingly. "You're feeling pretty confident aren't you?" Chloe looks up from her computer and awaits my answer.

I nod my head. "I just know. It's right. It _feels_ right."

**...::...**

**CLARK:**

"What. The. Hell?" Lois stares at the camper, clutching her pillow. I'm equally stunned. No, horrified is probably a more accurate way to describe my reaction.

I move toward the door of the camper and pull out the keys Steve loaned me. With an easy turn the door swings open, a rusty squeak welcomes us.

I cough briefly from the dust that filters out. Lois peers over my shoulder, surely bemused. No doubt I'll be living this one down for a while. One of the wheels to the camper is flattened causing it to rest crookedly. Rust mars the edges of the windows and door. To say the inside is dirty is an understatement. It is utterly filthy.

"Smallville?" I don't respond; I know it's best not to encourage her mockery. "Ohhh Smallville," she sings out tapping me on the shoulder, undeterred.

"I know! I know!" I reply at last, turning toward her, my shoulders slumping. I'd hoped for a better reveal than this.

"Did you?" Her mouth quirks with a grin. Unable to contain her smirk, she quickly buries her face into her pillow.

I take her by the shoulders and move her toward the side of the camper. "Stand here. Don't move. Give me five minutes."

"You can have ten," she says laughingly.

**LOIS:**

The trailer, camper, whatever Clark wants to call it, is a disgusting rat hole. I have no idea what possessed Clark to borrow this thing from Steve. It's barely holding itself up on its four wheels. The orange awning is torn from the roof and it's covered in dirt.

It makes me laugh to see him so panicked. I probably shouldn't, but the look on his face when we walked up to the camper was worth it.

"Give me five minutes," he promises. I offer him ten. He looks over his shoulder, looks toward me and in the blink of an eye he's inside the camper, the door swinging closed behind him. I close my eyes briefly to appreciate the moment. There's something about when Clark uses his powers in front of me… I fan my heated face with my free hand.

A family of four walks by and gives me a look. I realize at that moment that the trailer is rocking back and forth behind me. I give an awkward shrug and a sheepish smile. Mr. and Mrs. All-American family quickly shuffle their All-American kids away from what I'm sure they think is the deviant trailer. If I had Clark's super-hearing I'm sure I would have heard them warning little Joey and Sally to stay far away from us.

My cell pings with a new text message.

OQueen to LLane 2:15pm | No I will not call Clark. You're on your own with this one, Legs.

LLane to OQueen 2:16pm | C'mon. I hate camping. Call Stern & tell him you want me to interview you for something

OQueen to LLane 2:16pm | No.

LLane to OQueen 2:17pm | Can you do me a small favour?

OQueen to LLane 2:17pm | Depends

LLane to OQueen 2:20pm | Stop by my apt. & pick up my notes on the convenience store murders & drive them over

OQueen to LLane 2:22pm | You didn't sneak them in your luggage?

LLane to OQueen 2:23pm | Clark checked my bags for hidden work and found them

LLane to OQueen 2:23pm | Help?

OQueen to LLane 2:24pm | Ha! No.

"Okay, your castle awaits." The door swings open and I stuff my cell in to my pocket. I turn and lift my foot on to the raised step. Clark takes my hand to help me up.

I cautiously step into the camper. The transformation is dramatic. There is not a speck of dust or dirt to be found, I'm sure. There is a fresh sleeping bag on the mattress and a plethora of snacks on a small table in the corner.

"Well done, Smallville." He beams at me and pulls the pillow from my arms, tossing it on to the mattress. Without saying a word he tugs at my belt, freeing it. His lips meet my own and before I know it, the camper is swaying for an entirely different reason.

**...::...**

**CLARK:**

OQueen to CKent 8:35pm | Don't hate me.

CKent to OQueen 8:36pm | What?

OQueen to CKent 8:38pm | I need your help.

CKent to OQueen 8:40pm| Is Lois extorting you again?

OQueen to CKent 8:41pm| No, I swear. Tess has resurfaced. Chloe's cameras caught her outside of the Daily Planet.

CKent to OQueen 8:45pm| Give me 20 min. I'll be there. Tell Lois nothing.

I return my phone to a small shelf that sits next to the mattress. I turn on to my side and gently pull Lois' body toward my own. I press my lips to the edge of her naked shoulder and softly call out her name.

"Mmhm?" She grumbles from the haze of sleep.

"I'm going to find some firewood. I shouldn't be long. I'll make you some hot dogs and run and get some marshmallows. We can roast S'Mores later."

"Yum." My stomach wrenches with guilt. I should just tell her the truth: Blur duty calls. It doesn't seem fair though; Lois can't work on her story and do her job, but I can do mine. I stick to the lie, it's easier.

I burrow one last kiss into her hair and within seconds I'm racing along the interstate.

**LOIS:**

LLane to OQueen 8:59pm | Bring me my work!

OQueen to LLane 9:01pm | Keep me out of this.

LLane to OQueen 9:02pm | I know you called C. No fair. He works, I work.

LLane to OQueen 9:02pm | Bring me my notes! And a laptop with wi-fi. You owe me.

OQueen to LLane 9:05pm | I know nothing.

OQueen to LLane 9:06pm | I also owe you nothing.

LLane to OQueen 9:10pm | Does Chloe know about the camera in your bedroom?

OQueen to LLane 9:11pm | Meet my driver outside of the campgrounds in thirty minutes.

OQueen to LLane 9:11pm | P.S. I hate you. Really.

LLane to OQueen 9:12pm | Love you too.

**...::...**

**CLARK:**

By the time I return to the camper, the sun has long set and the campground is still. I don't have firewood, and I forgot to pick up marshmallows for the S'Mores. I'm in trouble and I know it.

The light is on from within; I hesitantly open the door and peer in. I stifle a chuckle; Lois is slumped over a laptop sleeping, papers scattered all around her.

Stepping quietly into the camper, my presence is revealed by a creak from the rickety floor.

"Humf?" Lois jumps from her slumber, startled. She brushes the nest of curly hair from her face and absently wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She finally notices me and scurries to hide the evidence. "This is just—" she doesn't finish her sentence. Instead she hastens to push the papers away, as though to hide them from sight. She slams the lid to the laptop down and moves to lean her arm in front of the mess; I'm sure she's hoping that it will appear as though it doesn't exist.

I can't help but grin. She looks alarmed and confused at the same time. I move toward her and pull her to her feet. Even in the mess of hair and with the indentation of the space bar on her forehead, she still looks incredible.

I am, with certainty, in love with the woman that is standing before me.

**LOIS:**

"I'm sorry," I offer weakly. Sorry that I got caught, that is. Clark doesn't reply, but just smiles at me. I'm slightly unsettled by his silence.

"What?" I ask.

"I am so in love with you."

I stare at him, stunned by the surprise declaration. "Clark? Is something wrong?"

He ignores my question and says instead, "I went to help Oliver back in Metropolis."

"I know."

Bemused, he replies, "Of course you do." His eyes turn toward the mess I've left on the table. "Gotten any further with the convenience store murders?"

I puff out my cheeks and shrug my shoulders. Busted. He knows about what I've been investigating. "Not really. But I did find out that each store had an unusual surge of energy the night the murders took place." He nods, that strange grin still plastered across his face.

"You're acting weird." I narrow my eyes. "Why?"

"You're amazing, you know that?" I blush at his words.

"I didn't exactly leave my work at home though. That's not so amazing, is it?"

He shakes his head. "I don't care. I didn't leave my work at home either."

"What's this all about then?" I motion to nothing in particular. "I mean we could've stayed home and just done our work all the same."

"I wanted to spend time with you, away from everything. We haven't seen so much of each other lately."

I nod. "But there's something to be said about the excitement…"

"There is," he agrees. We both know that we thrive on it. I don't love waking up in the middle of the night to a cold indentation in the mattress where Clark had once been; Clark certainly doesn't like finding me scouring the streets of Suicide Slum bribing deadweights for information. But yet it's who we are. It is a part of what we love about each other.

He pulls me close to him and I flush at the movement. I'm afraid my breath stinks of sleep and that my hair must look like a rat's nest. I go to lower my head, but am stopped by Clark who raises my face to his own.

"I love you Lois Lane," he says emphatically. "I love your sense of adventure. The way you keep me on my toes and the thousands of ways you challenge me. I love the scar above your eyebrow-" he presses his lips to my forehead. "The dimple at your elbow—" he lifts my arm and kisses the crook. "And the way you hitch your breath when I—"

He is unable to finish as I press my lips to his and draw him nearer, proving his point. With each gasp for air I whisper declarations of love in return. We are still standing, but our limbs are quickly becoming a tangled mess.

Dizzily occupied I barely realize that Clark has opened my palm to face his own until something cold is slipped on to my finger. I pull back and turn my head toward the sensation and notice a diamond shimmering in the dim light of the trailer.

"Marry me," he whispers in to my ear, his breath hot against my neck.

**CLARK:**

"Marry me Lois and I'll swear to protect you always and to love you indefinitely." Lois gapes, shock riddled across her face. She remains silent and I'm at a loss for further words.

"Well?" I ask, hopeful and nervous.

In a movement that rivals my own super speed, she turns and pushes me. I fall on to the mattress; a sleeping bag bunches at my back. Her legs straddle my waist and she stares down at me.

"Clark?" She says sternly.

Fear courses through my body. "Yeah?"

"Will you take me to monster truck rallies?"

My face lightens. "Yah, of course."

"Will you buy me a six pack on game day?"

My hands move toward her legs. "Yes, yes. Obviously."

She tries to appear serious but her eyes are twinkling. I swallow a lump that has formed in my throat. "Can our next camping adventure be at a five-star hotel?"

My shoulders relax and I let out a chuckle. "No camping. Done."

Her face relaxes and is filled with euphoria. "In that case... then yes," she says pressing her lips to my cheek. "Yes." Her lips move to my forehead. "Yes." Her lips touch the tip of my nose. "A thousand times, yes!" And at last they meet my lips.

**...::...**

**LOIS:**

A cheer erupts as I stare down the aisle before me. Clark takes my hand in his, leans down and brushes a kiss against the back of my hand. The nervous butterflies in my stomach have long since dissipated; the long white taffeta dress no longer feels uncomfortable and constricting. Clark and I walk down the stairs and towards the oversized wooden doors at the front of the chapel. The smiling faces of our friends and families call out their congratulations as we pass, a few shake Clark's hand and others take mine.

The day has already been a whirlwind and it's only just begun. Between the sanctuary and the doors to the outside we pause and enjoy the momentary solitude. In seconds the chatter of our guests will envelop us again.

"I have a surprise for you," Clark says, a suspicious grin tugging at his lips.

"Should I be worried?"

He bobs his head and pushes his new glasses up his nose. "Are you ever?"

I consider his question. "No," I reply with a chuckle.

He takes my hand and eagerly leads me outside where more of our guests greet us. Clark moves his hand to my waist and pulls me near; his face briefly nuzzles my neck and he breathes in to my ear, "your surprise is just past that oak tree…"

I can see his red truck parked on the street, something is hitched to its cab. I turn toward Clark, confused. He smiles and nods his head. I move carefully down the steps, angling to secure a better view, when suddenly I see it.

The orange awning, repaired. The rusted windows and door frame, sanded down. The siding, painted.

I can only laugh. It is the dreaded camper. "We're not camping for our honeymoon are we?"

He grins and shakes his head. "No, no. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Then-?"

He doesn't respond. With ease he lifts me from my feet. I cry out, startled; the gathered guests laugh as Clark carries me toward the truck. Oliver opens the door to the attached camper and Clark lifts me into it, following closely behind.

Once Clark returns me to my feet, I wave to our friends and family. I can hear the truck roar to life and jerk itself in to gear. Clark closes the door and secures it with its lock. "Um—Smallville, are you going to explain?" I collapse onto the chair by the corner table and look up at him. I can feel the trailer shift as the truck begins to move.

He smiles. "When I asked you to marry me, I promised that our next camping adventure would be at a five-star hotel." I raise my eyebrows, expectantly. I look toward the mattress; its sleeping bags have been replaced with sheets and pillows.

"Let me guess?" I say laughingly. "Egyptian cotton?"

Wordlessly, he pulls me to my feet. Before I know it my back is hitting the bed and Clark is on top of me, partially concealed in a mess of taffeta and silk.

"You didn't say anything about how we got to that five-star hotel…" My laugh is cut off by Clark's lips as the camper continues to lurch toward our reception.

"You know," he says between kisses. "You might be right about these sheets and pillows…"

**::: Fin ::**


End file.
